


Like the Sweet Apple

by PrincexPhoenix



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bondage, Consensual Non-Consent, F/F, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincexPhoenix/pseuds/PrincexPhoenix
Summary: “You know,” Crowley says, kicking her heels off with a bored air, “I was sent to the Garden to cause trouble.” She takes a sip of wine from the glass held in her right hand with a loose, lazy grip. They didn’t tell me what kind of trouble,” Crowley continues. “I had a different plan. Having Eve eat the apple? That wasn’t what I was going to do at first.” Crowley sighs and leans forward. She puts her hands on her thighs and slides them down to her knees. “I planned to seduce an angel,” she says. “The Guardian of the Eastern Gate, that is.”Or: Crowley asks Aziraphale to go back to the Garden and pretend to be a demon, and seduce an angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 128





	Like the Sweet Apple

“You know,” Crowley says, kicking her heels off with a bored air, “I was sent to the Garden to cause trouble.” She takes a sip of wine from the glass held in her right hand with a loose, lazy grip.

“You told me that on the wall, my dear,” Aziraphale says without looking up from her book. 

“They didn’t tell me what kind of trouble,” Crowley continues. She miracles another glass of wine into her hands. It is a deep red, the colour of rubies. If she remembers correctly, it is a Tasmanian Pinot Noir, known for tasting of truffles and berries. In another situation, Crowley would be drinking the cheapest wine, just to see Aziraphale wrinkle her nose in disgust. But tonight she wants Aziraphale to be happy, and maybe just a bit - a lot - drunk. Crowley holds out the new wine glass and Aziraphale takes it, her eyes still locked on the pages.

“Oh?” Aziraphale says. “How nice for you, dear.” She sips the wine and this, at least, draws an appreciative smile from her lips.

Crowley sits down and crosses her legs. She is wearing her best skirt, the one that slides up her legs when she sits and has a slit up the side. The wine swirls in its glass as she lifts it to her lips and takes a sip. It warms her the entire way down her throat, spreading through her like fire. She sinks into the couch and sighs.

“I had a different plan,” Crowley says. “Having Eve eat the apple? That wasn’t what I was going to do at first.”

Aziraphale looks up at last. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

Crowley sighs and leans forward. She puts her hands on her thighs and slides them down to her knees. “I planned to seduce an angel,” she says. “The Guardian of the Eastern Gate, that is.”

Aziraphale coughs, thumping her chest. Crowley’s eyes flick down and and then all over Aziraphale’s body. Crowley can spend decades listing the ways she loves her angel, but one of the things she loves the most is the way Aziraphale never changes her body. It’s soft and plush, and Crowley loves sinking in between her thighs and worshipping her. Especially since Crowley is hard angles and bones.

“You were going to seduce me?” Aziraphale asks. A blush forms on her perfect cheeks and Crowley props her chin up on her hands and watches Aziraphale from behind her sunglasses. “You, Serpent of Eden, were going to seduce me?”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley says. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Why would you want to seduce me?” Aziraphale asks.

“To cause trouble,” Crowley says. She stands and saunters over to stand before Aziraphale. She kneels and places the wine glass on the table. “What would cause more trouble than seducing the Guardian of the Garden? Besides, I’d never seen a more bewitching creature in the entirety of my existence.”

Aziraphale blushes again, and this time it spreads down her neck and her chest. “My dear, be serious,” she says, pushing on Crowley’s head. Crowley leans into the touch and places her hands on Aziraphale’s thighs. They slide up Aziraphale’s pants legs, fingers splayed wide.

“I’m deadly serious,” Crowley says. “It’s a regret I’ve been harbouring, not seducing you. The wicked things we could have done.”

Her hands reach in between Aziraphale’s legs, pressing against her sex. Aziraphale gasps and pushes into it.

“Are you trying to seduce me now?” Aziraphale asks, running her tongue along her lips.

“Are you interested?” Crowley asks with a smirk.

“Very, my dear,” Aziraphale says. She reaches out and pulls Crowley close, their lips meeting in a hungry, open mouthed kiss. Crowley sucks on Aziraphale’s lower lip before pulling back. Aziraphale takes a moment to realise, her lips still parted.

“I actually had something different in mind,” Crowley says. “What if you seduce me, the innocent angel weaving flowers instead of paying attention to my actual duties?”

Aziraphale blushes again, but this time it’s got the tinge of annoyance to it. Crowley still loves the way it highlights the apples of Aziraphale’s cheeks. 

“That was one time,” Aziraphale huffs.

“I seem to remember multiple,” Crowley hums, walking her fingers up Aziraphale’s arm. “In fact, I remember Adam and Eve both wearing flower crowns, necklaces, bracelets, and anklets before they were kicked out.” She stops at the top of Aziraphale’s shoulder before trailing her fingertips along to Aziraphale’s neck. “I could make flower crowns,” she says. “And you could be the big, bad demon, sent all the way up from Hell to…”

She places her fingers on Aziraphale’s lips. She lowers her head and her sunglasses fall down the bridge of her nose. Her yellow, serpentine eyes stare at Aziraphale, pupils wide. “To seduce me. To take me, corrupt my innocence, tie me down and have me in every way under the leaves of an apple tree.”

Aziraphale blinks. A smile curves her lips and she tilts her head. Crowley holds her breath, her heart hammering. She wants this, and more importantly, she wants Aziraphale to want this.

“My dear,” Aziraphale says, tucking a bit of hair behind Crowley’s ear, “you hardly look the part.”

Crowley smiles. “I can change that.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The apple tree offers the promise of shade and a cool breeze. Crowley - Zadkiel, she reminds herself - is drawn to the small clearing by the lure of flowers. Apple blossoms litter the ground and Crowley smiles. Humans ascribed meaning to everything, she thinks, and flowers are no exception. Apple blossoms were given peace, hope, and good fortune as their attributes. It tells Crowley all she needs to know of humans that they think of apples as good, despite the connotations around the forbidden fruit.

She sits down, her long, scarlet hair streaming behind her. It took her a month, but she managed to grow it out, and pride fills her at the way the sunlight dappling through the leaves of the tree makes it look aflame. She starts to pick up the scattered apple blossoms and weave them into a flower crown. Her tongue darts in and out of her mouth as she concentrates, using minor demonic interventions to hold the stemless flowers together. Soon she has a complete crown and places it on her head with a certain amount of triumph.

It has been a long while since she sat and made flower crowns, Crowley thinks. 

There is a silence in the forest and she sits up, anticipation stirring in her. She knows nothing of Aziraphale’s plans, the angel unusually coy. If Crowley is being absolutely honest with herself, the not knowing makes the whole situation a little frightening, and all the more hot.

“Is someone there?” she asks, pitching the right amount of tremor into it. There is nothing but silence and Crowley allows herself a pout, if only for a moment. Then she leans back against the tree and closes her eyes. Her mind wanders, daydreaming of Aziraphale waltzing over and pretending to be a demon. While her angel is brilliant, and beautiful, pretense is not what Aziraphale is known for. Crowley counts herself lucky that Aziraphale agreed to this game at all, never mind being a perfect demon. 

Lost in her daydream, Crowley slips to sleep underneath the apple tree, a smile on her face.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wakes up to a disappointing lack of Aziraphale. There is nothing disturbing the forest and, honestly, Crowley is losing interest in the wait. She stands and stretches. Her white robes lift just enough to expose her bare feet and the shoulder falls, exposing milky white skin.

“Leaving already?” a voice says from somewhere around her. “I was enjoying the view.”

Crowley spins and loves the spike of adrenaline flooding through her. “Hello?” she says. Her voice wavers. “Who’s there?”

“Just an admirer,” the voice says. Aziraphale steps out from behind a tree and, for a moment, Crowley forgets how to breathe.

The suit Aziraphale is wearing has to be made by human hands. The cut of it is too perfect to be a miracle. It clings to Aziraphale in all the right places, highlighting her breasts, the way her stomach falls over her hips, and shows off her thighs. Crowley licks her lips before remembering that she is the unspoilt angel.

“What’s your name, admirer?” Crowley asks. She drifts closer, letting curiosity get the best of her. 

Aziraphale waits until Crowley is within arms length before grasping Crowley’s wrists. She drags her close and places a hand on Crowley’s ass. Aziraphale’s other hand plucks the flower crown from Crowley’s head.

“Eisheth,” Aziraphale says, placing the crown on her head.

Crowley makes a small sound and reaches out for her crown. Aziraphale leans back and Crowley stops. The hand on her ass squeezes and begins to bunch up her robes.

“Unhand me, villain!” Crowley declares.

Aziraphale arches her eyebrows. “Villain?” she asks, a disdainful smirk gracing her lips.

_Shit_ , Crowley thinks. _Aziraphale makes a better demon than I do._

“What’s an innocent little angel doing all alone, anyway?” Aziraphale asks. “Shouldn’t an Archangel be guarding a beauty like you?” Her hand rests under Crowley’s chin, tilting it up and to the side. Crowley’s jugular is exposed, pulsing as her heart rate quickens, and Aziraphale’s voice drops to a purr. “A temptation like you should be protected.”

“I am a Principality, and the Guardian of the Western Gate,” Crowley says. She knocks Aziraphale’s hands away and takes a step back. Aziraphale stays still, smirking. “I do not need anyone to protect me.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asks, and then is behind Crowley in an instant. 

Crowley freezes as Aziraphale’s hands tangle in her hair. Her heart is pounding and it only speeds up as Aziraphale pulls her back. There is a slight pain in her scalp that sends a thrill through her. She is pressed against Aziraphale’s body, all soft curves, and moans. Just a little.

“So easy,” Aziraphale mocks. Her hands move from Crowley’s hair to her breasts. “Are they not pleasing you in Heaven?”

“Angels are not as tawdry and wanton as demons,” Crowley shoots back. She makes to step away and Aziraphale’s grip tightens. Something like fear pulses through Crowley, chased by excitement. There is a growing pressure in between her legs and she arches into the touch.

“Oh?” Aziraphale murmurs against Crowley’s neck. She runs her tongue along the column of Crowley’s throat and sucks at Crowley’s pulse point. Crowley’s legs turn to jelly. “It seems like you’re so eager for me to ravish you.” 

"I'm not," Crowley says, pushing at Aziraphale. "Please, Eisheth, take your hands off me." She wriggles and Aziraphale's hands clutched tighter. Pain starts to bloom in Crowley's breasts, where Aziraphale's hands squeeze, and it translates itself into a rush of arousal between her legs.

"If you really wanted that," Aziraphale says, nibbling on Crowley's ear, "you would have actually pushed me off by now."

Crowley snaps her fingers. Aziraphale makes a sound of surprise as she finds herself a few paces away, her hands groping the air. A smug smile appears on Crowley's face. It fades as, with a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, her hair - her own long, lovely, fiery hair - wraps around her wrists like a snake and pulls her hands behind her back. Crowley tenses, a small tremor of fear thrilling through her. She shifts her hands and her hair tightens around her wrist.

“Eisheth,” Crowley says, “release me, please.”

Aziraphale saunters forward, her hips moving side to side. Crowley takes a few steps back and runs into the apple tree. Aziraphale’s eyes gleam and she places her hand beside Crowley’s head. 

“Is a little angel stuck?” Aziraphale asks, trailing her fingers along Crowley’s collarbones. “Such a shame,” she says, and leans forward. 

Her lips meet Crowley’s in an annoyingly chaste kiss. Crowley pulls back and Aziraphale follows, deepening the kiss. Her tongue darts along Crowley’s lower lip, seeking access. When Crowley presses her lips together, refusing to open them, Aziraphale grasps either side of Crowley’s face and forces her jaw open. Her tongue laps at the top of Crowley’s mouth before sliding along Crowley’s tongue. Crowley presses her back against the tree and keeps her tongue still.

Aziraphale pulls back, her pupils so wide they almost eclipse the blue of her eyes. “Green?” she asks.

“Fucking green,” Crowley responds, kissing Aziraphale hard.

Aziraphale kisses back and places her hands on Crowley’s breasts. Crowley hisses into her mouth and arches into the touch. Aziraphale laps and drags her lips along Crowley’s cheek and jawline, down to her neck. 

“Oh, you are eager, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asks. “No one’s given you any pleasure? Let you bounce on their cock?”

“I am the angel of the Western Gate,” Crowley says. “I have never desired to bounce on anyone’s… member before.”

Aziraphale hums and sucks on Crowley’s pulse point. “How cute,” she purrs. “You can’t even say cock.”

Crowley blushes. “It’s such a crude word,” she protests.

“I’m a crude demon,” Aziraphale says and pushes Crowley to her knees. Crowley looks up at her through her lashes and Aziraphale groans. “You can’t look at me like that, all feigning innocence, and expect me to believe that you’ve never done this before, gorgeous.”

“I’ve never defiled myself, no,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale shifts closer. She waves her hand and Crowley’s white robes disappear. Crowley is nude now, and Aziraphale places the flower crown back on her head.

“Allow me to be the defiler, then,” Aziraphale says, her voice a caress along Crowley’s cheek. She undoes her belt, letting it drop to the ground. Crowley watches as Aziraphale’s hands pull at the waistband of her pants and lets them pool around her ankles. Crowley’s eyes widen. Aziraphale’s cock is erect and leaking. Crowley licks her lips at the sight of it, arousal pooling in her stomach. What it lacks in length it makes up for in girth, and Crowley can’t think of a time she’s ever seen a more beautiful cock.

Aziraphale advances, guiding Crowley’s head back - gentle, so gentle - and Crowley does a quick miracle. Aziraphale’s eyebrows quirk up, and Crowley kisses her palm.

“Green,” Crowley whispers, a mischievous look in her eyes. “You?”

“Green,” Aziraphale says, and pulls Crowley’s hair back. 

Crowley gasps at the pain in her scalp, and how her hands jerk just shy of their limit, pulled by Aziraphale’s steady grip. Aziraphale pushes the tip of her cock into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley looks up at her, eyes wide with feigned shock. Aziraphale smiles, patronising, and bottoms out in Crowley’s mouth with one fluid motion. Crowley chokes on it. Aziraphale pauses and, with a smile, slips back into the bookshop owner Crowley has loved for six thousand years.

“You gave yourself a gag reflex?” she asks.

Crowley hums in the back of her throat and wriggles. Aziraphale’s smile widens and she takes a moment to slip back into the cool demeanour of Eisheth, but there is a flush around her cheeks that Crowley takes pride in. Aziraphale starts moving her hips in a lazy rhythm, fucking into Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley moans.

“What a fallen angel you are,” Aziraphale praises. “Just so eager to please.” 

She fucks Crowley’s throat faster, forcing Crowley to take her deeper. Crowley obliges, relaxes her shoulders and allows Aziraphale to move her head up and down Aziraphale’s cock at a punishing pace. Pure desire pools between Crowley’s legs and she longs to have her hands free to touch herself. She shifts, rubbing her thighs together, chasing any hint of friction she can find.

“No,” Aziraphale says and Crowley stops. “You can wait for me to make my way down there, my angel.”

Crowley melts into a puddle and bobs her head up and down Aziraphale’s cock. The salty taste of Aziraphale’s cum soon fills her mouth and she swallows. Crowley laps at Aziraphale’s cock, cleaning the shaft of any cum left over. Aziraphale groans, her cock twitching to life again.

_Thank somebody for our lack of refractory periods,_ Crowley thinks.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale says, running her hands through Crowley’s hair. “I’ve watched you for ages, thinking about this, having you bound for me.” She places her high-heeled shoe on Crowley’s chest and pushes her back. Crowley falls to the ground, her hair artfully - and miraculously - fanning behind her, her legs spread. Aziraphale’s eyes gleam as she settles to her knees, and then lays in between Crowley’s legs. She places a kiss to Crowley’s thigh and drags her tongue down to Crowley’s cunt.

“See?” Aziraphale says, licking up Crowley’s slit. “You already made an effort for me, you sweet thing.”

Crowley is reminded of War at the airfield, wielding Aziraphale’s sword, and finds herself wishing that Aziraphale still had her sword. Then Aziraphale pushes her tongue past the lips of Crowley’s cunt and Crowley loses the ability to think. Aziraphale is an expert at moving her tongue in the right ways to make Crowley’s toes curl, and tonight is no exception. The smell of apple blossoms is heavy around them and Crowley breathes it in as Aziraphale sucks Crowley’s clit and laves her tongue in lazy circles over it.

“Azi - Eisheth,” Crowley moans.

Aziraphale laughs, and the vibration sends Crowley over the edge. She wails, thrusting her hips into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale catches Crowley’s hips and holds them at their height, pushing her tongue along Crowley’s clit. Crowley collapses, panting, little aftershocks of pleasure shooting along her nerves.

Aziraphale pulls back and wipes her face on her sleeve. With little ceremony, she grabs Crowley’s ankles in one hand and pushes them as far as they will go. Crowley, for her part, miracles it so her ankles can touch the crown of her head. Aziraphale’s pupils dilate more and she fists her cock in her other hand. With a slow, teasing push, Aziraphale slides into Crowley and fucks her with abandon.

Crowley matches Aziraphale’s pace, her hips meeting Aziraphale with desperation. She can feel a second orgasm building, this one different - deeper, more spread throughout her entire body. She tilts her head back, her mouth a perfect o, and Aziraphale’s lips press wet kisses down the column of her throat. Crowley fights against her orgasm, thrusting her hips against Aziraphale, until Aziraphale comes with a shout. Then, as Aziraphale’s cum fills her, Crowley lets her orgasm flow through her. She pants, the beginnings of overstimulation making her dizzy. Aziraphale pulls out of her and flips her onto her stomach. Aziraphale’s hand rests on Crowley’s head, and then her fingers tangle into Crowley’s hair. She pulls, guiding Crowley’s spine to bend back on itself. Crowley expends a few miracles to let her spine curve beyond what human limitations would allow.

“If I knew you were going to be this good, I would have done this a long time ago, angel,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley almost melts again. Aziraphale calling her angel was one of the sexiest things she heard in her life. The casual blasphemy that falls from Aziraphale’s lips is like an aphrodisiac.

Aziraphale teases a finger along Crowley’s crack, and then slips an ethereally slicked finger inside of her. Crowley moans, her eyelids fluttering as Aziraphale crooks her finger. Aziraphale presses kisses all over Crowley’s face.

“You’re doing so well, my dear,” she says, her voice a mix between the loving angel and the ravishing demon. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Crowley miracles her hole loose and Aziraphale slips in another finger, and then another. She stays there before pulling her fingers in and out, spreading them, spreading Crowley. Crowley squirms and bucks her hips back into Aziraphale’s fingers.

“Eisheth,” she says, hissing on the s, “just fuck me already.”

Aziraphale huffs. “Rather demanding, aren’t you?” she asks. “Are all angels this bossy?”

Crowley waggles her hips. “Always,” she says, grinning at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale releases Crowley’s head and Crowley lets herself fall forward. Aziraphale pulls Crowley’s ass into the air and kneels. Her erection rubs on Crowley’s entrance before pushing into her. Crowley hisses, pressing her face into the grass. Aziraphale moans as she bottoms out in Crowley’s ass. They stay locked together, unmoving in the still of the Garden.

“Think you can take this for me?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley hears the love in her voice, the pure, unadulterated, unconditional love that pours from her at all times.

“Yes,” Crowley responds. “Yes, angel, fuck, I love you.”

Aziraphale starts thrusting her hips, dragging her cock out to the tip and then back into Crowley’s ass. Her other hand rubs against Crowley’s clit in small circles. Crowley pants and rocks her hips back onto Aziraphale’s cock. Soon Aziraphale stops moving and Crowley keeps up her pace, fucking herself on Aziraphale.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, her hands clenching around Crowley’s hips. “I love you, you beautiful, wicked, perfect creature.”

She comes, buried deep in Crowley’s ass. Crowley pants, the high of her arousal making her head ache. Aziraphale slumps against her back. Crowley intertwines their fingers and rubs against her clit until her orgasm is pulled from the very depths of her, curling her toes and making her shout into the ground.

Aziraphale kisses the back of Crowley’s head before pulling out of her. They sprawl on the ground, Crowley wrapping her limbs around Aziraphale, sinking into her warmth and soft curves. Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s hair and kisses her cheek.

“My dear?” Aziraphale murmurs.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley says, opening an eye.

Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s cheek. “Can we do this again? Same characters, different scene?”

Crowley thinks. A smile curves her lips. “Mesopotamia?” she suggests. “We can wait for a rainy day, and you can punish me for my role in the flood.”

Aziraphale kisses her. “That sounds simply divine,” she murmurs.

Crowley groans, and then laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this fic is courtesy of Sappho's "One Girl" poem. You can find what I read of it here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50343/one-girl
> 
> For this prompt on the kink meme: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1785689#cmt1785689


End file.
